


From the Blue

by Lulzy (likelolwhat)



Series: For the Love of a Meme [14]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Abuse, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Amnesia, Aphrodisiacs, Apologies to Stormcloak sympathizers, Biting, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Collars, Community: skyrimkinkmeme, F/M, Hand Feeding, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Knifeplay, Loss of Virginity, Skyrim Kink Meme, Stormcloaks Win, Threatened Eye Gouging, Threats of Violence, Ulfric is a right bastard in this, Villain PoV, Wuunferth the man the myth the legend, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2018-02-28 03:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2716493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likelolwhat/pseuds/Lulzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragonborn learns taking sides in a conflict like Skyrim's civil war is not only a bad idea, but a likely fatal one. Against all expectations, however, the would-be king she fought so hard to defeat has other plans for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> De-anoning from the skyrimkinkmeme; [prompt over here](http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4941.html?thread=10399565#t10399565).

Where the Dragonborn had disappeared to was an open secret in the months following the Liberation of Skyrim.

No citizen could talk about it in the open, of course, not while the guards had ears, but it got around anyway. And the people weighed the Dragonborn's Auriel-given destiny against what they had seen of her in the flesh, and decided someone else could defeat Alduin. Right?

When they thought of her fate, it was vague — being made an example to the Thalmor was the most common theme, but whether that meant death or something else, well, no one could agree on that.

Few knew the truth.

Galmar knew, and Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced too, and though the guards who kept watch would never admit it, they knew as well. Even Wuunferth knew at one point, to make the necessary enchantments, though whether he still knew was anyone's guess. The old mage had made it clear he would have no part in "it" beyond that first order of his king's, and shut himself up in his quarters afterward. The servants assured the High King his court wizard was still alive, and Ulfric let him have that protest.

Divines knew the king was... otherwise occupied.

Poor Jorleif was running ragged trying to keep the country together in her new ruler's continued absence, having to make up increasingly strange excuses to the petitioning jarls. Ulfric had shown up once, for the Moot, with the Jagged Crown perched lopsided on his head and a manic gleam in his eyes. The gleam only got more pronounced when Dengeir put forth the nomination as the first order of business, and the rest of the jarls (even Laila, who was beginning to think — privately, of course — that the whole affair might have been a bad idea) voted Ulfric as High King. Really, who had expected any different?

Ever since then, though, Ulfric had been absent from court, from public appearances, even from meals. Though even Galmar was beginning to get an uneasy feeling in his gut, no one dared voice their concern to the king's face.

They all knew the reason, though. Undoubtedly, the witch-elf Dragonborn was charming their king somehow, preparing for something nefarious.

~*~*~

_20 Mid Year, 4E 202._

Alinya ducked back into Castle Dour, dragging Hadvar with her and pouring healing magic into him at the same time. The Nord was a dead weight, but with a quick feather spell she was able to move him into the cool darkness of the Imperial base, a wide trail of blood staining the tiles as she dragged Hadvar back by the arms.

"You found him," Legate Rikke breathed once Alinya was in the war room. The old soldier was letting her no-nonsense facade break for a moment.

"Yeah. He's alive," the Altmer said shortly, glancing down at the blood on her hands before doing her best to ignore that it wasn't hers for once — it was her friends', her allies'. It was a strange feeling, to hold dying and already-dead people in your arms when you'd been laughing over some stupid joke mere hours before. "I can — I can fix this." The words were mostly for Alinya herself. She knelt down — her robed knees soaking in in Hadvar's blood — and started stitching her friend back together. _A heartbeat, there_. She focused on making it stronger.

"We're going to lose," Tullius said from the corner, half in shadow.

Alinya ignored him.

"With all due respect, sir," said Rikke, "shut _up_."

A hysterical chuckle burst from the General's lips. "Fine, fine..." he mumbled.

Hadvar was breathing easier now, so Alinya chanced to hand him over to the nervous-looking medic hovering nearby. She stood shakily, feeling the Nord man's blood drip from her hands. She'd done all that she could. She always did all that she could. If she died here, though, with Alduin still out there somewhere... She didn't expect Stormcloak to spare her just because she was the Dragonborn.

How could she expect him to understand?

She should have stayed out of it until after her main destiny was complete, but she couldn't let the War continue. She thought it would be quick — lend her Voice to a few battles, rally the troops, defeat the greater of two evils — but the Stormcloaks had been bolstered instead, running on the fact that she was Altmer to claim that she was Thalmor too.

Their ignorance disgusted her; she wasn't even someone the Aldmeri Dominion would _tolerate_. Not that having a Bosmer grandfather would win her any points with anyone. The Thalmor wanted her dead even before she was Dragonborn, her Bosmer kin thought her lineage was little more than proof of a rape, and everyone else saw only a hated Altmer. It had led to more than a few close calls with the locals.

The Legion had accepted her, at last, after sending her alone on several dangerous but not critical missions she was sure they expected her to die on. But when she returned, victorious, each time, Legate Rikke finally rolled her eyes and told the General to "get on with it".

And that was when it all began to go downhill.

Now the Battle of Solitude was raging outside, but she could feel in her bones that however close it sounded now, Ulfric would win. He had superior numbers and the morale-booster of previous victories, and while Solitude was home to the Legion, the city was better suited to the Stormcloak's fighting style. They could blitz-attack the Imperial soldiers, while the latter had trouble maintaining their tight formations in the city streets.

"General?" Alinya said, breaking the silence. "I need to—"

"No!" barked Tullius. "You're not going back out there, that's an order."

The man was insane. He was just going to have them sit here while their soldiers were massacred? If he was that despondent they should surrender; surely Ulfric would spare the Nordic Legionaries at least and some folk would live. If he thought they could win, still, they sure as Oblivion weren't going to do it sitting on their heels.

Tullius looked up and must have seen a mutinous look on her face, because he slapped his gauntleted hand against his knee and barked again, "Alinya! Stand down. Now."

Oh, how she wanted to disobey, but then her Legion training was kicking in and she was sliding down the wall to land heavily on a bench. She bowed her head and stared at her hands, at Hadvar and others' blood drying on her elegant fingers and smooth palms, flaking off in bits and pieces. Her magicka was returning after healing Hadvar, the slow burn in her veins signaling she had overtaxed herself.

Rikke took up a position between Tullius and the door, shifting nervously from foot to foot. The sounds of battle were ebbing outside. The minutes crawled by in tense silence as the three of them were left to their individual thoughts. Alinya knew what she was thinking about. She wondered if her death would be swift or lingering, dignified or humiliating. She wondered if anyone would be left to mourn her. She wondered if Alduin would eat her soul and then the world after. She wondered if Auriel would choose someone else, a Nord perhaps, to continue where she had left off. (As He should have done in the first place!) If not, she wondered if Ulfric would know what he had _done_.

The door outside slammed open, and Alinya opened her eyes; she didn't know when she had closed them. She straightened just in time to see Ulfric Stormcloak himself arrive in the doorway to the war room. Close behind him came his general and housecarl, Galmar Stone-Fist. Bringing up the rear was a familiar-looking young blond, currently shrouded in a seriousness that did not fit his laugh-etched face. Galmar gave a signal and the unnamed man guarded the door outside.

Ulfric Stormcloak was not triumphant yet, but he did look grimly satisfied as his eyes swept around the room. He lingered his attention on Alinya, finally tearing himself away to give Tullius a cursory glance before settling on Rikke, who had now drawn her sword.

"Rikke," he said, gentler than Alinya could have imagined. "Go. You don't have to stay and die for _them_." His rumbling voice dripped with contempt, and Alinya wanted to scoff.

She did not; she would not give this man the satisfaction of seeing her succumb to Altmer stereotypes. Even if he _was_ a blustering, self-assured idiot.

Rikke bristled at the implied slight. "You're a damned fool. I'm not fighting for anyone; I'm fighting for everyone."

"For Talos' sake woman, stand aside!"

"You're really going to do it, aren't you? Shatter any hope of defeating the Aldmeri Dominion, and kill the _Dragonborn_ while you're at it?" Rikke sounded incredulous, and Alinya just wondered how the Legate could be so blind that she hadn't seen it all along.

Something hard and calculating flitted across Ulfric's face, but it was Galmar who spoke. "She's awfully bad at saving the world: she sided with you, a dying Empire, and you still didn't win."

"I hate to say it but I'd be inclined to agree with that assessment," Alinya murmured, looking at her hands again. She was so young, just barely an adult by Bosmer standards and a week from majority by the Altmer reckoning. How could she have thought she could make a difference in a war between adults, let alone between _men_?

Galmar sneered. "Oh goody, the high and mighty mer lowers herself to agree with me." He made a show of rolling his eyes.

Alinya averted her gaze and said no more.

"You have no idea what you're doing. Talos preserve us." And with that, Rikke lunged forward. Alinya stood up, ready to help her friend and commander, but Rikke's anger and desperation made her sloppy, and the Altmer couldn't get a spell in before Ulfric got past the Legate's guard and his sword pierced her chest nearly to the hilt. Her dying gasps echoed in the room. Then— before Alinya could break from her stunned trance, Tullius was surging up like a tidal wave and throwing himself at the Stormcloaks with a wordless roar.

"Oh, for Auriel's sake—" Alinya readied a lightning spell — crisp, clean lightning that would neither be resisted by the Nords nor make the corpses unrecognizable — and aimed the ball of crackling energy at Ulfric, but the rebel leader took a quick, sharp breath in and—

_**FUS!** _

The energy buffeted her, knocking her outstretched arm back just enough that she released the bolt too soon and off-course. In that moment, Tullius was knocked back by a mighty blow of Galmar's, stumbling right into the lightning's path. Alinya stared, transfixed with horror as her General seized in place, the lightning sizzling around him; then he went down, crumbling to the floor. The smell of charred flesh filled the war room.

Alinya recoiled, unable to process the scene (Rikke, sliding down Ulfric's sword until she popped off with a wet sucking sound and fell to the floor beside Tullius; the General, still twitching from the lightning even as his wide-open eyes stared into space) now that it was right in front of her. She had thought they were going to die, but this was different. Her stomach turned and she felt the stone wall smack against her back. The room was closing in on her, Ulfric and Galmar advancing, but she couldn't get her legs to move; had forgotten her basic spell-crafts.

She brought her arms up, intending to ward off their cuts with her bare hands if she could, but then Ulfric darted to her left and smashed his sword-hilt into her temple.

The floor came up to meet her, her cheek pressed against cold stone, and before she blacked out, the last things she saw were the glassy eyes of her superiors, accusing her in death:

_You did this._


	2. Two

_3 Sun's Height, 4E 202._

Alinya woke slowly, bits of awareness filtering back one at a time. Her pounding head. The cold. Light beyond her eyelids. Something scratchy around her neck. 

Her nakedness. 

She moaned, but it filtered back as if she was underwater. She couldn't tell if the distortion was due to the room or had something to do with her skull splitting open. With another, also-strange-sounding groan, she forced her eyes open. 

The fuzziness in her vision puzzled her for several long, uncountable moments, until she turned her head just so and felt the knot buried in her hair; the knot of the white cloth blindfold that let light in but not much else. She tried in vain to feel it on her face. Her hands wouldn't move, but something hard and cold bit at her wrists. 

Where was she? Her memories were hazy. Sounds of battle in Solitude. Hadvar's blood, hot and sticky on her hands. 

A grim smile on the face of a would-be king. 

She couldn't— just couldn't grasp anything else, or how she knew what little she knew. Her gut was churning from hunger and nausea at the same time, so she curled in on herself, both to ease the discomfort and because the more aware she became, the more the cold affected her. While her wrists would not move, she could scoot herself up far enough to touch her knees to her elbows. There was something like a short-fur rug beneath her side; this was the only bit of external warmth she had. 

Alinya could only wait, but as her headache lessened bit by bit, her unease only grew. She had no idea where she was, still. It was so quiet— 

Distantly, she heard a door slam. Then, heavy footsteps coming closer. Closer. A pause, then a creak of wood — the light filtering through her blindfold rippled slightly — more steps, then the small _click_ of a door shutting, very close by. 

She could feel someone watching her. She went still, not even daring to breathe. Unseen eyes raked across her body, and she shivered before holding herself taut again. 

"Come now, _Dragonborn_ ," said a deep voice, and a spark raced up her spine. She knew that voice, though she couldn't place it. That word, too, was familiar, but she couldn't quite figure out how it related to her at the moment. "You're trembling like a rabbit in a snare." 

She didn't try to say anything; too busy forcing herself to breathe again. It came in great gasps that stung her chest with cold. 

The footsteps came closer: slow, deliberate, stalking. They paused a mere pace away. A soft rustle of fabric, then the scrape of metal, like a key in a lock, a soft swish. 

She felt the warmth of the hand a half-second before it touched her arm. Jerking back with a gasp, she shook her head frantically, suddenly all too aware of why she might be naked and tied up. But her wrists were immovable, and she only managed to let the cold nip at her breasts and her small nipples perk as her body unfurled from its fetal position. 

The hand, so blazing hot it made her tremble where it had passed over her skin, made its way with agonizing slowness up her arm to her wrist. 

"Nuh—" Something was wrong with her voice. Why couldn't she speak? 

A snort of amusement, and the hand pulled away. Another key-in-lock noise, a click of something springing apart, and the tension at her wrists released. Before she could blink, that hand was back, grasping her by the arm in a vice grip and dragging her across the rug. 

"Nuh— pluh—" 

But her protests did nothing, and the hand yanked her sharply in another direction. Her head banged against something metal, her side scraped against a ridge in the floor, and then she was over the ridge and sliding across a cold wooden floor as the hand gave one last tug and let go. 

She lay there on her back, utterly helpless. The floor was slippery — she could not gain enough purchase with her feet to scrabble backwards — and her hands were still tied tightly together at the wrists in a mockery of prayer. She tried holding them out, to ward off blows or to plead where her voice could not, she didn't know. 

The footsteps came around to her head, then sharp metal — _a dagger, a dagger_ her mind screamed — slid across her cheek and under the blindfold between her left eye and her ear. It stung, the shallow cut, and she felt blood drip down her face, but then, in one smooth motion, the dagger withdrew and the cloth covering her eyes fell away. It was soaked in her sweat and the tears she hadn't known she was shedding, but at last she could _see_. 

And the face of a would-be king, the face that haunted her scattered memories, swam into focus above her. 

He was smiling tight-lipped, just like in her snatches of recollection. A name rose unbidden as she stared at him, taking in his face as she tried to reconcile the flat, portrait-like memory and the real man. _Ulfric Stormcloak_. She shivered, because he was looking back with a predatory gleam in his cloud-gray eyes, catching her in his stare and not letting her go. And she stared back, breath coming in short, hitching pants. 

His smile broke into a grin, bright white teeth flashing at her like the snows of Skyrim itself, and finally she managed to break her eyes away. They flicked around the bedroom, for that was what it was: a large bedroom with a dais in the middle, upon which sat a bed to out-show a king's. Above, the ceiling extended in tiers, allowing shafts of light to filter down through the slitted windows onto the blue and gold banners. One in the middle had a snarling bear on it. It plucked at another memory, deeper than the flickers she'd gotten before. _Enemy, enemy_ , it whispered to her, but she just couldn't grasp it— 

Of their own volition, her eyes slid right, to a desk and chair. Further, an extravagant cabinet. Then, where she had awoken: a corner of the room, half-hidden by a pillar, occupied by a steel cage. 

It was longer than it was wide, and both dimensions were better than the two feet it rose off the ground. She would be able to stretch out lengthwise, and extend her arms to the elbows, but neither stand inside, nor kneel without doubling over. She was ashamed to realize she recognized the design, though it brought no specific memory to her. Her mind was still buzzing faintly, and she just couldn't focus on anything long enough before that focus slid away. 

"I'll assume Wuunferth did his job then. Good," Ulfric mused, still watching her. 

"Wuh—" Auriel damn him, what had he done to her voice? 

"Shh. Don't try to shout." He placed a peculiar emphasis on 'shout', as if it held some meaning for both of them. "Or cast. I've made sure you won't be using magic for a long time yet." 

_Magic? My magic!_ Ignoring what her captor had just said, Alinya tried to tap into that deep pool inside her, to call fire to her fingertips as she had done as easily as breathing before. Except this time something blocked her, she couldn't reach it any more than she could her memories. She was cut off, utterly, for the first time in her life. Now that she was aware of it, she felt the emptiness where her magicka should have been, and it made her cold as none of Skyrim's winters ever had. 

Ulfric grinned again as her breathing quickened. Before the panic could overwhelm her, though, he stooped and gripped her by the arm, dragging her up and pulling her towards the bed. Her bare feet scrabbled uselessly on the hardwood and scraped on the edge of the tiered dais, but Ulfric hurried her along as if she was a doll. He was _strong_. 

He spun them around and pushed her back onto the furs. She fell with a cry, sinking into the softness even as Ulfric held her arms in hands like vises, looming over her. He moved in close before she could kick, pressing between her thighs and giving her no leverage. She could feel his length through layers of fur and fabric, and she panicked then, twisting as much as she could in Ulfric's steel grip. It would bruise later, and his fingernails tore her delicate skin, but the pain just made her more frantic. 

Her captor let go of one of her arms, but it made no difference since her wrists were tied together. He reached back out of her line of vision — what little she could see through the tears — and then she felt the dagger press against her face just under her eye.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: This chapter contains violence, threats of violence and rape.**

It was flat against her skin, not ready to cut just yet; but the threat was there, so palpable she went as taut as a bowstring. She stared into Ulfric's eyes, stared at the challenge there, and her muscles loosened, bit by bit, until she went boneless with a whimper. She could do nothing. He could cut out her eye right now, and _she could do nothing_.

But he didn't. "Good, good," he murmured. "Now, pet, a few rules for you..." His voice took on a threatening rumble, but it wasn't like an ordinary man or mer's voice, even deep as it was. No, there was a power backing up those words, a power that reverberated within Alinya and set off some memory that felt older than she was. A memory of fire and force pushing past her lips. She tried to hold onto it, some instinct telling her it would save her from this man, but like her magicka, it drifted away again.

The dagger pressed down into her cheek, drawing blood. "Pet. Pay attention."

She wasn't sure she could, as cold and fuzzy her mind was from... whatever it was affecting her. But she brought her eyes up to stare into Ulfric's, trying not to breathe too deeply lest she move further into the dagger.

"Good," he said again. "Rule one. You will obey me. Understood?"

She exhaled, and nearly nodded before she realized the dagger was still against her cheek. "Yuh," she said instead, flushing. She got the feeling he was trying to embarrass her on purpose by forcing her to speak when she couldn't do it clearly. And it _was_ embarrassing, listening to herself slur like a drunken Nord.

The dagger lifted a fraction. "Rule two. I am your king and you will address me as such. Understood?"

"Y-yuh."

" _Pet..._ " The dagger pressed again, marking her previously-flawless skin.

She swallowed hard. "Yuh, mah kuh — kuh — nng." She closed her eyes, more tears forcing their way out of her eyes and sliding down her cheeks to mix with the blood. Auriel help her. Auriel protect her.

"Hm." The pressure of steel against her skin lessened slightly once more, and Ulfric's eyes, while not exactly _softer_ , were certainly less threatening. "Rule three. The collar does not come off without my leave. I'd give you an idea of what will happen, but I'm sure you can imagine it yourself. Understood?"

She repeated the halting affirmation, swallowing hard. The thought of wearing the itchy, rough-spun rope around her neck for the immediate future was unbearable.

"Good pet." The dagger withdrew, and Ulfric's grip on her arm shifted. Then the other hand was back, trailing down her right cheek — tear-stained but unmarred — in a horrible parody of a lover's caress. She whimpered, and he quieted her with an almost-gentle _shh_. His arousal was still hard, if fur-covered, against her thigh. The hand moved down, raising goosebumps where it went: tracing her thin arms, ghosting over her small breasts, spreading flat against her stomach. She shivered and wriggled, but the memory of the dagger — and the knowledge that she would never get out of there alive, weak as she was — kept her from putting up more of a fight.

Her eyes were still closed, hoping to block out what was happening entirely. But then Ufric let go of her for the briefest of seconds, so short that she hadn't even realized she was no longer pinned before he was back, drawing one of her legs up. Her eyes snapped open just in time to see him tie the loose end of the rope leash around her bent knee, leaving her more exposed that she had ever been before.

"Nuh!" she gasped out when she saw that he had untied his breeches and was fishing himself out of his smalls with one hand. The other flashed up to grip her arm again, stopping her attempt to hit him before she had even realized what she was doing.

"If I need to turn you over, I will," growled her captor, leaning in more so she couldn't kick out. "Behave, pet."

 _Oh Auriel, Auriel he's going to—_ she screamed in her own head. She couldn't finish it, even in her thoughts.

Ulfric leaned in closer, staring into her so-wide-they hurt eyes. He pinned her down with his own body, leaving one hand free to wrap around her throat above the collar, and the other to guide himself into her.

She threw her head back, hyperventilating as she looked at the dust motes floating in the shafts of bright sunlight coming in through the ceiling-windows. But he just hovered there, now supporting his weight with the hand that had been on himself. Though she could feel him, he was less than an inch in.

What was he waiting for? Alinya couldn't help but wonder. There were spots in her eyes now, and she hoped she would pass out rather than be awake while he violated her.

Ulfric shifted again, and barely had the hand around her neck left there when he slapped her.

It was an awkward smack, being with his less dominant hand, but it brought her forcibly back to reality. Her breaths stuttered and resumed in shallow pants, but she was no longer in danger of unconsciousness. "Ouh—"

Ulfric said nothing, just smiled grimly and thrust inside her.

Something tore then. Her maidenhead, yes, but also something deeper — her innocence, perhaps. Or her soul. She was faintly aware of herself screaming below the sound of rushing water in her ears. All she could feel was Ulfric. Ulfric's blazing hot body pressed against her nakedness, Ulfric's warm breath on her sensitive eartip, the burning of Ulfric's flesh inside her.

It was hard going. She had been bone-dry, and he hadn't used any lube. But he was so aroused that he was leaking fluid, easing the friction slightly. The blood might have helped too; she couldn't tell.

Minutes passed in agony before, finally, her walls slicked just enough to let Ulfric slam home. It was his breath that did it, she realized dimly: she couldn't control her body's reaction to any stimulation of her ears, even as unwanted as it was.

Alinya's throat was burning, and she couldn't scream anymore. She whimpered with each thrust that followed after. Her eyes slipped half-closed and her head lolled to one side, but Ulfric didn't seem inclined to force her back to attention again. He was grunting, working himself into a frenzy. She was numbing, deadening to sensation; he was lost in the act, nothing but feeling.

With a full-body spasm and a low, lingering groan, Ulfric spent himself at last inside her.

He held himself up with one arm, keeping himself from collapsing on top of her by sheer force of will. Dimly, she could see his sweat-shined face. He was saying something, but she just wanted to curl up and cry until he went away. Her leg was still tied, though, her joints straining. The rope would leave a burn around the back of her knee, she could tell.

"Pet..." She drifted back into focus just to hear him warn her. She stared at him, wanting to scream, _What more do you want from me?_ but knowing it would be no use. More tears leaked from her puffy eyes; she hadn't thought she had any left.

"You were a virgin?" he asked, taking a cloth from the nightstand and wiping himself off. The fabric was stained pink by the time he tossed it onto Alinya's belly. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

 _What in Oblivion does that mean...?_ With shaking still-bound hands, Alinya grasped at the cloth and, gritting her teeth, made a swipe at the mixture of fluids dripping from her onto the floor. Auriel, she felt absolutely filthy. She was torn between her previous curl-up-and-cry plan and begging for a tub of hot water. Maybe both.

Ulfric's deft fingers undid the rope holding her exposed. She slowly let her leg down, feeling her joints protest and the sting of air hitting the burns around her knee, but before she could maneuver herself off the bed, Ulfric had her by the collar, dragging her back to the cage in the corner. He threw her inside but did not chain her up again, instead just locking the door with a key he produced from his clothes.

"Stay, pet," he said, as if she had another option.

Her choice taken from her, she curled up in the cage as best she could, shivering in the cold room. At least the fur-lined bed had been warm; the bottom of the cage was all steel bars that froze her skin. The floor-bars weren't rounded like the walls, however, and this was some relief. She closed her eyes, listening to Ulfric's heavy footsteps retreating out of the room and down the hall. Her thighs were crusted over now, sped by the chill, so she forced herself to lay still.

Eventually, she slept.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hel _lo_ there. I have returned to work on this story. Thank you to the commenters who gave me a kick in the butt!
> 
> New warning: Use of aphrodisiacs. I've updated the taglist too for things I neglected to add the first time around, namely amnesia and abuse.

When Alinya woke, he was back, standing in front of the cage. He held a faded blue blanket in his hands.

The light filtering from the windows was richer now; late afternoon, perhaps. She guessed it had been morning when she'd been— when she'd last been awake. Her stomach was still flipping with nausea, but it also felt like it was shriveling, folding in on itself. Her tongue felt like sandpaper.

She lifted her head from where it had been pillowed awkwardly on her arms. Was he going to give her a blanket? Thank Auriel!

But he just stood there, watching her with hooded eyes and inscrutable expression.

Perhaps he wanted her to beg. She would, if it meant she wouldn't freeze to death. She had nothing left to lose. "Puh. Pluh — eez." Her throat was raw, from dehydration and from screaming, but she couldn't imagine how anyone could interpret her efforts differently.

Ulfric made a considering noise and said, "Be quiet, Pet. I don't have to gag you, do I?"

So maybe he didn't want her to beg. What in Oblivion was he looking for, then? She shut up, but tried her best to school her expression into a pitiable one. It wasn't difficult — she was hungry and thirsty, cold and hurting.

Her captor snorted in amusement and went about unfolding the blanket and draping it over the outside of the cage.

"Wuh?!" she scraped out, feeling betrayed, though she knew she had no reason to trust him in the first place. As her view of him disappeared, she heard Ulfric say, "Pet. Be quiet." He arranged the blanket so it neatly covered the cage from end to end, and though there was still enough light to see by inside — barely — it still made her heart race and her palms slick. She hated the dark. She didn't know why. She tried to dredge up what caused this tremor to race up her spine and spread through her limbs, twinging at her stiff muscles, but it was as gone as every other memory.

Her harsh breathing must have been audible, for the next thing she knew Ulfric had drawn back the blanket at the top of the cage. Auriel, he was furious. She craned her head back and felt her breath hitch, then even out of its out accord. She was afraid of the dark, but he was worse.

His face — she would have thought him somewhat handsome in another life — lost its anger as quickly as it had come. He smirked. "Good..." It was as much warning as praise. Alinya's stomach flipped again.

Then the blanket shrouded her in darkness once more.

She curled up in a miserable ball, listening to Ulfric's footsteps move around the room. At least it was a bit warmer now. Her eyes had adjusted too, soothing the worst of her panic. She let herself breathe.

A soft knock came in the direction of the door, causing her to look up before realizing there was nothing to see. Ulfric's footsteps moved across the room, and the door creaked. Strange shuffling sounded next, accompanied by sloshing water. "Put it there," Ulfric boomed, causing Alinya to flinch automatically. Something heavy was set down on the wood nearby, and a clatter like plates bumping together came from across the room. A tangle of smells assaulted her nose, vaguely like food or… a memory of food.

Servants, probably. Four, if her ears had not failed her. A phrase arose from a dark corner of her mind, echoing in a voice not her own. _Seen and not heard_. Well, she wasn't even being seen, now. She tried to quash the voice, focus instead on what the sounds meant. Plates. Food. Water, something heavy that needed two people to carry it. A bath, most likely. Praise Auriel.

She hardly paid attention to four sets of footsteps leaving, or the door clicking shut. She did listen to Ulfric stroll, with deliberate slowness, toward her. Therefore, when he threw the blanket back, unlocked the cage and reached in, she was ready.

She wasn't going to be dragged around anymore; she was a prisoner but she would cling to the last scraps of her dignity.

She rolled past his hand and crawled through the cage door before Ulfric could grab her. She crouched on the floor, not trying to stand up lest he think her a threat and react accordingly. She just looked up at him, trying to convey her position with her face where she could not with words: she wouldn't fight, as long as she wasn't treated like a sack of potatoes anymore.

Ulfric, for his part, merely quirked an eyebrow. Then, after a long moment in which Alinya grew increasingly nervous about the whole idea to make them more like equals when she was a _prisoner who had just been raped_ , Ulfric began to chuckle.

Her stomach sank even farther, if that were possible, as the mocking sound echoed low through the room. She dropped her eyes, staring at her hands. They were still held together by the wrists, palms together. _Appropriate_ , she thought. _He worships a false god; I am the one left praying. Auriel, Auriel, protect me. Shield me from this horror._

Auriel did not answer.

"Come on then," said Ulfric, "let's see how long this lasts." He turned around and sauntered toward the table at the far end of the room, where several plates piled high with food drew Alinya's attention and held it. By the Divines, she was starving.

She tried to stand up, as the journey across the room seemed far from the floor, but she was weak from hunger and her core still ached, making it impossible. She was forced to shuffle-crawl across the distance, hating every agonizing second of it. Every awkward movement pulled at her stiff joints and cracked the dried fluid caking her thighs.

She passed by the steaming bathtub, eying it longingly. Food was more important now, though she knew she desperately needed a scrubbing; she felt filthy down to her bones.

Ulfric was waiting by the food, in profile as he slathered butter on a biscuit. Alinya, not quite close enough to be kneeling at his feet, carefully reached to pull herself upright with the table as leverage. She hadn’t even figured out a proper way to grip the edge when Ulfric — so casually, so cruelly — kicked her in the side.

“Uh!” she cried out, more from shock than pain, as she was already aching so badly, what was a little more? She hunched over herself, willing the tears not to fall. They did anyway, and her nose quickly clogged up.

“Ah, Pet, you do still need to learn,” Ulfric mused, with a snort of derision. He continued buttering the bread, not even bothering to look at her.

Alinya shuffled backwards again, so she could see more of the laden table. There were bottles of ale and mead, roast mutton, several different kinds of cheeses in slices and wedges and wheels, an entire chicken, and more kinds of pastry than she had names for, all piled haphazardly on silver platters. Just within sight, just a little out of reach. She looked at Ulfric and back. She had wanted to think about whether she should plead or not, whether it would be worth it to ease the gnawing sensation in her stomach, but she was just so tired, and the fuzzy headache had turned into a desperate pounding at her temples. She couldn’t help it. First a whimper, then a quiet whine escaped her mouth as she tried desperately to grab her captor’s attention.

He rolled his eyes, a gesture she would have pegged as the opposite of royal had she been a little more coherent, and finally glanced her way. “Hmph.” He shoved the biscuit into his mouth and pulled back a plush chair, dropping into it with a satisfied grunt.

Alinya’s stomach clenched, then rolled; more tears dripped down her face. Auriel, she wasn’t any kind of hero, and never had been. Just a scared little girl trying to do the right thing and failing.

She lowered her eyes, swallowing hard, and shuffled forward.

He was saying something — but she couldn’t take his voice anymore, instead retreating deep inside herself. She should remember how she got here, shouldn’t she? She’d had that thought, out of the blue, that she had failed. But failed what? What had she been trying to accomplish? She ate out of his hand while she pondered it, figuring that this was one battle, among many, that she could not afford to fight. Could she fight any? She was supposed to have magic, could feel that emptiness deep within, but she couldn’t remember when she had last used it.

An impression, half-formed and fleeting, surfaced into her consciousness: something warm and sticky coating her hands. Blood. It was just there for a moment, but it make her choke on the bit of meat she’d just taken from him, and her stomach flipped. She struggled not to throw up the meager bites she’d already taken, pursing her lips shut and pressing her forehead to the cool wooden floor by his chair. It helped. She probably looked pathetic, but it helped.

Ulfric remained mercifully silent, but she felt his eyes boring into the back of her head.

After a long moment she straightened again. Her stomach had calmed, but she doubted it would remain that way if she took any more food. He didn’t offer any, besides. Instead he plucked a goblet from the table and peered into it thoughtfully, swirling the contents around. “Be a good pet,” he said, terrible deep voice pitched low. And he held it down for her to sip from.

The order unnerved Alinya, but she had little choice. He wouldn’t kill or seriously injure her now, would he? She doubted it, but this man had surprised her before—

_When?_

—and so it was with prickling dread that she drank from the goblet.

It was water, cool sweet blessed water, and she gulped it down. The water retreated — he was taking it away — and she chased after it with her entire body, leaning forward until she nearly lost her balance. The water returned after a moment, tilted so she could only drink a little at a time. She wanted more.

It was water, cool and sweet.

Too sweet.

Heat bloomed in her stomach, spreading out like vines through her limbs and up into her head. Her vision blurred and her head pounded. She couldn’t tell if she was swaying or if her eyes were that unfocused, but there were two Ulfrics standing up from the chair, two Ulfrics seizing her by the arm and dragging her to the tub. He hauled her up and untied her hands, then lifted her easily and plopped her into the warm water with a splash. All this happened before her mind could process it, leaving her unable to resist.

A pause while she tried to make her limbs obey her — it wasn’t quite paralysis, but she was shaking hard and her thoughts were clouded — and then he was sliding in behind her, muscled legs neatly trapping her own. Strong arms wrapped around her, his breath was hot on her ear, and she whimpered as something hard that could only be _him_ poked against her lower back.

“Mm, not yet, eager little Pet,” he whispered into her ear, and she shivered. It was wrong, but warmth was pooling in her core. A purely psychical reaction, but it was worse than it had been when — when he’d first raped her. _The potion?_ She squirmed, but he was holding her too close and her efforts only made his member slide across her back and a grunt of pleasure sound in her ear.

She focused on staying still as he reached for the soap and cloth, but she couldn’t control the shivers. Though she was sweltering under her skin, her body’s reactions were all wrong.

He was — surprisingly tender in his ministrations, rubbing slow circles into her back and arms with the cloth, slipping down to clean each of her fingers and the creases between. It felt nice, somehow; but she tried to ignore that creeping feeling, and her inappropriate gratitude for the wash, instead reminding herself of her circumstances. _I am a prisoner. I have been raped. He is an egotistical tyrant and fanatic_. She didn’t move or make a sound, even as he continued on, inevitably, to her chest and stomach.

Her nipples perked at the attention and he chuckled in her ear. She didn’t move.

He rubbed lightly down her belly, ghosting across her pelvis before nudging her thighs apart. She didn’t make a sound.

But he was content, it seemed, to draw out the torture: he focused on scrubbing the dried fluids off her legs, little pink-tinged flecks coming off to float in the water. Her stomach flipped again.

Then he was guiding her up to her knees and turning her around to face him. He was naked as well, but still powerful, in his prime and his element. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. She let him wash her hair, rinse it, run his fingers through the wet strands. She let him tilt her chin up and scrub at her face, even when the scab broke off and the soap stung her wound. She let him run his fingers down her arms, raising goosebumps along the way, down to her hips.

She prided herself that she only squirmed and whimpered when he grabbed her bottom, kneading the flesh roughly in his big hands, and not an instant before.

He smirked, damn him, and tapped her nose. “There you are, Pet.” He stood up suddenly, dragging her with him, water sloshing everywhere.

Alinya felt her face scrunch up, mirroring the disgust flooding her being. “Leave me _alone_!” she spat — or rather, whispered, the words scraping against her throat.

Ulfric froze, and she realized a beat later why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my readers, whether you're from 2014 or have found this later on. I love you all, and if you liked/didn't like/were indifferent to this story I would love to hear your thoughts.
> 
> I have the rest of this already written, and will likely update with another chapter within the week. I would _like_ to hold off and update once a week, but I don't know if I can. I'm just too excited to finally complete this!
> 
> [My tumblr is here](http://forthelulzy.tumblr.com/). Come visit if you like, I don't bite. :)


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite a week, but close enough.

Alinya shivered. A window was open in the room beyond, she could tell, dropping the temperature to dangerous levels. Though Ulfric had given her a too-short shift before shoving her back in, she was still without a blanket — just the blue one draped over the cage, which blocked little but the light — and still an Altmer, made for the sun-kissed shores of the old Summerset Isles. And her hair was still damp, though the bath — and the potion — were hours behind. No matter what she did, she couldn’t curl tight enough to ward off the cold.

She had tried to speak more, but nothing more came than breathy whispers in the dark. Still, it was enough to jolt a piece of her memory free. A line of a song, or a rhythmic poem. She forced the words past her lips over and over, though it hurt, though she wanted nothing more than to sleep.

“ _Looking up from underneath fractured moonlight on the sea…_ ” Her throat was raw. She barely felt it anymore, the faint sound in her ears the only indication that she was speaking.

She didn’t stop.

The door — to the bedroom, not the cage — creaked, and a chill unrelated to the temperature flooded Alinya’s body. He was back.

Sure enough, there was his heavy, sure tread, crossing to the other side of the room. A creak signaled the window was shut, though the temperature remained the same.

But there was another presence. These steps were heavy, too, but hesitant. The soft swish of fabric accompanied them, and the creak of old bones. Alinya wondered who it was, but even if she had met them before she doubted she would remember. She had to wait, heart pounding.

The stranger spoke first, in a wizened, but still strong, voice. “My Jarl—”

“King,” Ulfric snapped from the far side of the bedroom.

A sigh, then the old man tried again. “My king, then. I would be better able to fix the problem if I could see it.”

“No.”

“If I could just speak to her, then.”

“No.”

“If the enchantment is too strong she will lose her mind.”

That gave Ulfric pause. Alinya shivered again. What were they planning?

“Fine, Wuunferth,” he finally said. But his voice carried an undercurrent of something — something dangerous, something that stuck in Alinya’s mind and stirred memories like the wind stirs papers. He was famous for his power, but once she was better than he—

The blanket lifted, startling her out of her thoughts. A white-whiskered, wide-wrinkled face peered in at her. Wuunferth, and this name meant nothing to her. He looked very old, almost as if he would crumble to dust at any moment. But he looked at her with sharp eyes, staring back into her own.

Ulfric stood at his shoulder, and the old man glanced back with a grimace. “My King, if you could just—”

“No.”

Wunnferth looked back at Alinya, and she was not too dazed to spot his eyes roll upward. “All right, but may I have a chair?”

~*~*~

The old man was the court wizard, and he spoke to her as if they had some acquaintance. As Ulfric hovered, Wuunferth asked her a series of questions, urging not to think too hard about any of them. How much did she remember? Not enough. Did she know the year? It took a moment, but yes. Month? From the pervasive cold she would guess Evening Star, but Wuunferth wouldn’t tell her if she was right, just gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Could she speak any louder than whispers? No. Where was she from? Summerset. Yes, but _where?_ Uh…

When Wuunferth had run out of questions, he studied her for a moment longer, tapping a bony finger against his lips. Abruptly, he scooted his chair closer, ignoring Ulfric’s growl, and reached through the bars to cup her face.

His hands were cold, but gentle enough. He stroked her temples with his thumbs, and she closed her eyes as a steady pulse of warmth spread from there. She shivered even more violently as her body slowly warmed up. _What is this magic?_ She didn’t recognize it—

She didn’t—

_Auriel_

It burst like a firecracker, reverberating inside her brain, and her eyes snapped open just in time for her to see the panic in Wuunferth’s, before her vision turned white.

And she remembered.

Cliffside in Auridon, resplendent on a summer’s eve, sabre cat rising with the forearm still in its mouth, her mother’s secret smiles only for her but everyone saw, the firebreathers at festival, smoke rising from Helgen, that one time she almost died from ataxia of all things, Tullius and Rikke and Hadvar, _that bastard_ raping her mere hours ago, the first time she’d laid eyes on Skyrim and known this was the place where she would die.

It came back, not politely or easily, but it came back, and Alinya was paralyzed beneath the torrent of memories that were _hers_. Hers, and hers alone, and no one would take them from her again.

_Reflections still look the same to me, as before I went under…_ The song, for it was a song, surfaced again, and this time she had more than one maddening line.

“—easier to gag her?”

“No. I want her mouth free.”

Her ears twitched involuntarily towards the raised voice ( _Ulfric, Jarl, traitorusurpermuderer_ ) and she slipped back into herself again, orienting herself once more. Yes. She was here, in _this_ context. Her jumbled memories were sorting themselves into some kind of order in her brain, and she was (again) absurdly grateful for something that was hers by right.

“All right there, Dra—?” Wuunferth cut off, tensing when he realized his mistake. They _had_ met, before the Legion, and she remembered that he had treated her with exactly the same disdain that he treated everyone else.

Alinya paused before slowly nodding. Did the wizard intend to release her memories? Did he know, now, what he had done?

“I am not interested in whether she is _all right_ ,” Ulfric growled. “Just give me a solution.”

“I believe the issue was that the spell for her Voice was too broadly applied, and therefore malfunctioned too quickly,” Wuunferth explained with a resigned sigh.

“Solution, Wuunferth.”

“I apply it more precisely, and while she will retain normal verbal function she will be unable to raise her voice enough to Shout.”

Alinya stayed quiet, darting her gaze between them. It appeared he didn’t know, or at least wasn’t going to reveal it in front of Ulfric. _All your gods bless you and keep you, Wuunferth the Unliving. Even Talos._

Ulfric grumbled low in his chest, clearly not liking the idea. He shot a glare at Alinya which made her want to disappear, studying her rather as a general studies an unfavorable war table. “Fine. It’ll be your head if it doesn’t work.” The threat was made so casually that Alinya didn’t quite register it until she saw the sudden ashen tint to Wuunferth’s face.

“Very well, my king,” he murmured, and that was all the warning Alinya got before Wuunferth turned to her and cast.

~*~*~

_24 Hearthfire, 4E 202._

Alinya stood by the window. Ulfric snored from the bed, cock still out and Jagged Crown tilted dangerously over his face. She had considered stabbing him with a tooth the first time he fell asleep still wearing it, but this, among many others, was not her final plan. Her final plan would be better. She hoped.

_Ugh_. She could still taste him, if she concentrated too hard, despite her scrubbing. His stink was everywhere on her now, ghosts of his hands squeezing her breasts when her mind wandered. There was no escape from that.

But maybe, escape from him.

“Pet?” Ulfric mumbled.

“Yes, my king?” she replied quietly, drawing away from the window with regret heavy in her heart. She had gotten somewhat used to the cold; it appeared Wuunferth’s warming charm was a long-lasting one. She hoped the old wizard was all right.

Ulfric’s only response was another rumbling snore. She paused, watching him for a moment, but when he showed no signs of waking again she relaxed a fraction and turned back to the window. It was little more than a slot in the wall with a wooden shutter, unsuited for an escape. Perhaps a starved Bosmer might fit through it, but not her. It wouldn’t be part of her still-forming plan.

Ulfric only occasionally left the rooms anymore, but with this complication came his complacency. When he did leave, when someone managed to draw him away to be the king he technically was, he no longer locked her in the Thalmor cage, or even bound her hands. At one point he’d leashed her to the bed, but had since foregone even that.

She wondered if he had ever considered the danger of the plates. She’d also eyed the wardrobe, with its rare and expensive glass panels. Did he know those were a Breton design? Did he care? She would enjoy ruining those, but… Too much noise. Strangling him with his own banner would be the perfect justice, if only the window were bigger and she could trust the guards not to get inside faster than she could kill him. If there were a gap in the guard rotation, she could—

_The guard rotation…_

She glanced back again to make sure Ulfric was asleep, then leaned as far as possible over the windowsill, as the window was just wide enough to fit her head, but not shoulders, through. She tucked her ears tight against her skull and braced herself for the bitter wind blowing parallel to the Palace wall. She’d thought about this before, in the first few days following Wuunferth’s visit, but she hadn’t had time to test her theory out then. Now, months later, she cursed herself for waiting so long, until she’d nearly forgotten entirely.

She stuck her face into the wind, closed her eyes, and drew upon the last resource available to her.

_**Laas Yah Nir.** _

The wind swallowed the Whisper safely, carrying it away. She felt no different as she withdrew back into the room and opened her eyes. She hadn’t used this Shout much, preferring the Detect spells to differentiate friendly beings from unfriendly ones, so she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to feel anything. But when she turned she had to swallow her gasp.

She could see the guard outside the door, a glowing red silhouette. Impossible to tell if they were paying attention or not, or how much they would hear if she made noise. Ulfric on the bed — no surprises there. The other auras were surprisingly few: four scattered around what might have been the great hall below, including the two guards at the doors, and three others in the same wing as Ulfric’s quarters. A few indistinct spots, tiny from distance, in the other wing across the palace.

Less opposition than she had expected. The Palace of the Kings hadn’t been the busiest place when she’d visited before she joined the Legion, but now it was downright empty. _Which aura is Wuunferth?_ She dismissed the thought before it formed. She could not trust the old man would be able or willing to help her.

Directly, at least. No, all the tools she needed were with her.

Ulfric thought her broken. She would break _him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song referenced is "Never Let Me Go" by Florence + the Machine.
> 
> As always, I appreciate feedback, and my Tumblr is [here](http://forthelulzy.tumblr.com/).
> 
> One more chapter to go!


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the date is SignificantTM
> 
>  
> 
>  **Warning** : The second scene (after the break) is Ulfric's POV. Brace yourselves.

_2 Sun’s Dusk, 4E 202._

It took weeks for her opportunity to arrive. Alinya was patient, reminding herself that she was an Altmer, that recklessness would not serve her and she had as much time as was needed. She endured Ulfric’s attentions, and he mistook her retreat into her own mind, her daydreams of freedom, as resignation. He taunted her with it, and she rose to the bait just enough to keep him from suspecting she knew something he didn’t.

What was the phrase the matchmakers used? Lie back and think of Alinor? She lived it now. But the Alinor she thought of didn’t belong to the Thalmor, or even the Dominion. It was hers, a concept that reality would never, could never touch. She took comfort in that. Her mind was her own again.

So it was that she was standing on a moonlit shore, Secunda glowing serenely down at her, even as somewhere in the distant but encroaching present Ulfric pinned her to the writing desk and took what he wanted. The waves swept in to just barely touch her feet, the moon’s pale face reflected in calmer waters than would ever be seen on the Sea of Ghosts. Masser was gone, but she didn’t mind; it was a bloody and dominating moon, anyway. Secunda, dear sweet Secunda, was ever overshadowed, but for here on her shore.

Alinya’s ears twitched; Ulfric was licking them again in the present, trying to draw a reaction. Her body shuddered and her mouth twisted as it tried to hold back the inevitable moan.

_Looking up from underneath fractured moonlight on the sea…_

Drawing her imagination-cloak around her like the emperor’s regalia, she stepped into the water. The waves pulled back from her, farther, farther, into the horizon. When they returned, a great crest that blocked out the moon and the sky, she stared up into the face of the tsunami like she was looking into the mystery of Aetherius. And she opened her arms wide.

Alinya snapped back into reality as the wave crashed down, just as Ulfric’s teeth closed around her left breast and _bit_.

A strangled noise, half groan, half scream, tore from her throat. She writhed, but Ulfric still had her pinned, had wrapped her legs around his back in some awful parody of a lover’s ecstasy, had her delicate half-starved wrists grinding like a bird’s bones in one hand. He did not let go, until some self-preserving instinct made her still, sobbing and shuddering. And even then, he did not move.

“Please…” she managed to get out between sobs.

His lips quirked and his eyes shone with that same sadistic glee, but a beat later he loosened his grip and drew back to admire his handiwork.

She didn’t want to look, but she caught the red in the corner of her eye and couldn’t stop herself. He had been far enough around her breast to miss the nipple and areola, and nothing was missing, at least, but the marks were raw, bleeding, and jagged in the shape of his teeth. Her stomach lurched at the sight. And her breast felt like it had been ripped off.

“Hmm,” he said, as if about to criticize an ugly painting.

“Please,” she gasped.

He looked at her face, frowning, and released her wrists, stepping back.

She lurched up, gripping the edge of the desk, and tried to get her legs under her, but she was still sore, and—

Her vision swam, and her blood pounded like a war-drum. She collapsed face first onto the floor in front of the desk, narrowly missing the chair and sending a sharp spike of pain through her when her mangled breast hit the cold hardwood. Ulfric made no move to catch her. He paused for only a moment before striding toward the door, yanking it open, and leaving.

She didn’t know how long she lay there, spotting in and out of consciousness, but some time later she was dimly aware of hands rolling her over and a hiss of shock and disgust, before the soothing chime of Restoration and that familiar golden glow invaded her senses. Her consciousness sharpened, until she was aware that it was Wuunferth, trembling with an unchecked rage, holding his wrinkled hands to her breast.

“Oh…”

“Hush,” he said, not quite a snap, or at least the ire wasn’t directed at her. Ulfric stood behind, watching, arms crossed. His gaze was heavy on her, made worse by Wuunferth’s presence.

When Wuunferth was done, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, the wound itself had closed, though the scars — shining silver against her golden skin — would fool no one. He stood up without a word, smoothing down his robes and staring at nothing. The look on his face was a puzzle she did not have nearly enough time to solve.

“Can’t you—” her captor began.

“I am not a healer, Ulfric!” Wuunferth snapped, whirling on him. “I am not a healer, or a priest, or even a stitcher! I am not qualified for this!”

Ulfric raised a brow, slowly unfolding his arms. “How dare you speak—” His voice was tight, controlled. Leashed.

Lying forgotten on the floor, Alinya flinched. _Oh no_. This would never, ever end well. She rolled away and took refuge under the writing desk, folding herself up as small as possible.

Wuunferth was undeterred by his employer’s signs of imminent violence, however. Or perhaps he did not recognize them. “I am not, despite your demands, a monster, either,” he growled. “I have been afraid for too long. I should have stopped this sooner.” He straightened his back. “I should have stopped _you_ sooner.”

Ulfric went utterly still.

“I resign. I _quit!_ Find someone else to stand idly by while you heap abuses on an undeserving girl. I will not be part of this.” He stepped around Ulfric and stormed out, leaving the scent of a lightning strike in his wake. _Magicka_ , Alinya realized from her hiding spot. Wuunferth was showcasing his power, or barely restraining himself from attacking.

Ulfric spun on his heel and leapt after, bellowing for Galmar.

Heart squeezing painfully from the near miss, it took a few moments for Alinya to understand what she was looking at. The door was open. Ulfric and the guard were gone. Here was her opportunity.

Scurrying out from under the desk, she breathed the Aura Whisper with something akin to reverence. It hurt to smile after so long, but she did it anyway.

Now to get out.

Alinya was out the door and down the hall in a blink, turning her head frantically to listen for footsteps and look for auras or escape routes. She’d never been in this part of the Palace of the Kings before, but she had no idea how long Wuunferth’s dramatic exit would give her, how long it would take before Ulfric realized his mistake and came after her with murder in his eyes. The corridors all looked the same, and she had gone in the opposite direction from the men and so had probably missed the stairs. She tamped down a swell of panic and Whispered again.

Red. In the distance but getting closer to Ulfric’s quarters. Any moment now she would be discovered. She yanked open the first door she came across and barged inside.

It was a stairwell, a tight coil leading up into the darkness. Up. There was no down. Fuck. She took it anyway, bounding up the steps as fast as her long legs would carry her.

Shouting in the distance. The quarters had been found empty.

At the top was a ladder leading up to a trapdoor, and a stand with a full guard’s uniform including a heavy cloak, fur boots, and gloves. She donned these, tasting freedom on her lips.

She emerged onto the roof and into a raging snowstorm.

~*~*~

Gone. The Dragonborn, gone. His Pet had decided to betray him at last. She wouldn’t get far, and she would know the price for her lark.

He’d left Galmar with the task of escorting the former court wizard from Windhelm. The citizens should have seen a head roll, but Galmar had pled for mercy, and Ulfric in his infinite benevolence had allowed the traitor to keep his life. But he was exiled from Skyrim. He could go cozy up to what was left of the Empire, or go straight to the witch-elves for all the king cared anymore.

Because halfway back to his quarters he’d had the feeling he was forgetting something, and when he’d rounded the corner and seen his door was open, he’d known.

But she wouldn’t get far. He rounded up his loyal guards and set them off to search, with explicit instructions to let him handle his Pet. And of course, within a quarter hour he was on the roof, squinting into a blizzard at the small, shaking form curled up next to the kitchen chimney. She was just a strong gust away from disappearing over the edge.

“Pet,” he called over the storm. She must have been freezing. He would warm her up quick enough, but he needed to get her inside, away from prying eyes. He never should have allowed W— _the traitor_ to look at her. Bad things happened when anyone but him saw his Pet.

He stepped closer, then closer still when she didn’t seem to notice his approach. “Pet, I’m not going to hurt you if you come back now,” he lied, stopping an arm’s length away. If he lunged he could grab her, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. It would be better for his image if she came back of her own accord and her screams echoed through the Palace later.

She shuddered — a more visceral thing than the shivers, and not from the cold — and turned away.

He tried to stop the growl, but just as he was about to discard the notion of his image altogether, just to have her back, helpless to his attentions again, her head darted back up, eyes wide and unsure. She stared at him, searching his face, and oh, he was good at this, this lie-without-lying. The serious, honest set to his features may have sealed her decision, and her fate, for she darted her gaze away, then back, as if making her choice to trust.

“I am tired, my king,” she said quietly, and he had to read her lips to understand over the howling wind. “I can’t…”

He closed the distance and reached down, drawing her up. She went easily enough, pliant in his arms, but swayed when she was on her feet, eyes half-lidded. “Pet?” he asked gently, already thinking of how he would wake her up in his chambers.

She hunched over, resting her head against his chest though they were of a height, and grasped his arm with one hand. “Tired, so tired…”

“Pet, let’s get you—”

She tilted her head up, face twisting with her hate, eyes hard as ebon and twice as dark with her fury. “I am _no one’s_ Pet, you piece of _shit_ ,” she hissed, and he didn’t even see the blade before it plunged into his side. She twisted it — oh, how it hurt and yet didn’t compare to the stab in his heart at her quiet rage — and left it there.

Then she kicked hard at his knees, grabbed him about the chest, and levered them both over the side of the roof with the strength of the desperate.

Dimly he heard his guards shouting from above as they free-fell, heard his blood pounding frantically, but mostly his world narrowed down to a kind of white noise and _her eyes_ , inches from his own. The ground was rushing up, no way either of them would survive—

She smiled wide, winked at him. And she Spoke.

**_Feim._ **

~*~*~

Standing just outside the stain Ulfric had left in the snow on the open ground behind the Palace of the Kings, Alinya breathed again. The air hung heavy with blood, she was covered head to toe in viscera, but she felt lighter than she had in a long time. The snowstorm was calming into a powdering, fat, fluffy flakes swirling around her in a dance as the sun went down.

Shouting in the distance, and then the troop of guards rounded the city wall and spotted her, taking up a great cry of grief and anger. They surged forward as one, swords drawn.

 _Shit_. She tried to flee, but the snow was deep past the impact zone and she was weak from months of captivity. Whirlwind Sprint would not work — she still couldn’t raise her voice enough to Shout. She would be cut down with her back turned at this rate.

Lightning arced through the air and hit one of the guards square in the chest, leapt to another guard next to him, left both of them twitching corpses before they even hit the ground. Then a fireball whizzed past Alinya — she felt the searing heat pass her by — and exploded in the middle of the group, and Wuunferth was suddenly there at her side, one hand around the reins of a great dapple-gray horse and the other still casting. His robes were singed along the sleeves, and a shallow cut on his back ran diagonally from hip to shoulderblade, dripping blood and staining the cloth.

“Get on and go,” he shouted above the screams and the sizzle of magic. Another group was rounding the corner.

She clambered on — she had ridden a horse once, long ago, but it was not one of these great lumbering Skyrim-bred workhorses — and jerked the reins until the horse turned toward the east and the frozen river-mouth.

“May your gods and mine bless you and keep you, Wuunferth the Unliving,” she called down to him. He nodded once, not looking at her. The guards were advancing, Wuunferth’s spells were coming at longer and longer intervals, there were far too many—

“Go!” he shouted, smacking the horse on the rump. It bolted, leaving her clinging to the reins as it galloped faster than she had ever gone, faster than she would have gotten relying on Whirlwind Sprint and the inevitable Shout-exhaustion. She was at the river in a flash, the sure-footed beast only slowing down a fraction on the ice though it cracked and groaned.

The last she saw of Wuunferth the Unliving, former court wizard of Windhelm, he was standing in the middle of a circle of guards, still in his fighting stance but utterly still, magicka gone out. Then she had to turn forward again, guide the horse up the mountain-path that led to the Pass, the Pass that would lead her to Morrowind.

Not a minute later, her own magicka came surging back, and she had to fight back the urge to cry into the wind whipping at her face. When she paused the horse to look back again, at the top of the Pass, Windhelm’s walls were just dark smudges in the gloomy distance, and the lights of the city were oddly muted through an ice-fog coming up from the Sea of Ghosts. She saw no torches or other signs of a pursuit party, but this did not make her feel glad. And the dragon’s roar, echoing off the mountains around her as the ancient beast glided in from the south and wheeled over Windhelm, did not make her feel anything at all.

She did not look back again, even as she crested into the Velothi Mountains and Skyrim, the land where she had known she would die, disappeared into the oncoming night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that's all, folks. I deliberately left it open so you can imagine how happily or tragically Alinya's life ultimately ends up. But if you have any questions feel free to ask. (and yes, Ulfric did just die like a Disney Villain, LOL)
> 
> I never imagined, when I started writing this for the kmeme so long ago, that I'd be finishing it now, as one of my most popular stories (five _thousand_ hits as of this writing? what?!), or how enthusiastic the response would be. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. A special thanks to anyone returning after the three-year hiatus, who had to deal with my near-total abandonment of this story. You rock.


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